


Wicked Games

by acaseofthemondays



Series: Darcy and the Winter Beefcake Chronicles [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, More angst, Smut, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaseofthemondays/pseuds/acaseofthemondays
Summary: After a horrible, no good, very bad day, Natasha decides to make Steve feel better. And herself.





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> This makes the most sense if you've read Grade A American Beef up to chapter 26 where Darcy and Nat have a little chat on the quinjet to the tower. This is what happened in Sokovia to make Rogers all hearteyes over Natasha.
> 
> Also, if you're a glutton for punishment, read the last little segment that's written from Steve's perspective while listening to Wicked Games by Vincent James Mcmorrow. Just trust me. You will hurt so bad (good).

Natasha couldn't fucking stand it when men cried. She couldn't stand it when women cried either, but at least, as a collective, women had some damn good reasons to cry. What did men have to cry about?

Her usual M.O. when faced with a blubbering man was to incapacitate him, sometimes permanently. So what was it about listening to Steve's quiet sobbing in the next room that was causing an uncomfortable tightness in her chest?

Little faces flashed behind her eyes. Little broken bodies housed behind glass, attached to machines, skin mottled and discolored. Some with horrifying malformations. Some looking like perfect porcelain dolls. All of them dead.

Natasha rubbed a hand over her eyes and rose from her perch on her hotel bed with a sigh. She strode over to her bag, gripping a bottle of Stoli by the neck and sweeping up the two empty glasses sitting on the bedside table. She knocked softly on the door separating her room from Rogers’, waiting patiently while he tried to stifle his hiccuping sobs.

The door pulled open slightly and he peeked his head around the corner. His naturally pale complexion would have given away his recent crying if Natasha's superior hearing hadn't already picked up on it. He cleared his throat but Natasha pushed past him before he could say anything. He stepped back, letting her pass, and then followed her to the little table that sat near the curtained window of his room. He sank into the chair, his heavy frame making the aging seat creak under his weight.

Natasha opened the bottle with nimble fingers, pouring out considerably more than healthy doses into each of the tumblers. She slid one over to Steve and he wrapped his hands around the glass numbly, sniffling rather pitifully as he did so.

“You know this won't actually do anything for me.” His voice sounded rough and raw and his red-rimmed eyes never lifted from where his hands rested on the table.

“I know. But the burn is always nice.”

Steve grunted and nodded, then raised the glass and downed the contents in one gulp. He set the empty glass down with a clunk on the table, shifting in his seat as he gasped and sputtered. Natasha hid her grin behind her glass, sipping the contents and letting the familiar taste soothe her.

Steve pushed his empty glass towards her and she filled it again. He downed it again but at a more measured pace, avoiding the coughing fit of before. Natasha watched him with sharp eyes, noting the slight tremble to his hands and chin, the pink flush on his cheeks and over the skin peeking out from the collar of his undershirt.

Goddamnit, she hated when men cried.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do until she was already standing in front of Steve, her hand outstretched towards his face. She utterly surprised herself when her fingers swept over his tear stained cheek and down to grip lightly at his chin. She thought surely when she reached for him that she was going to knock him unconscious.

Apparently not.

Steve's eyes finally met hers at the touch and she used her grip on his chin to tilt his mouth up, bringing hers down to meet it. She felt him freeze under her, his breath stilling in his lungs. She pulled back slightly to examine his reaction, watching the way his eyes remained tightly closed and noting the slight flare to his nostrils.

“Natasha,” he breathed out before his eyes snapped open. She could see the questions there, the uncertainty, but there wasn't any outright rejection. Before he could voice those questions, she dove back into him, pushing her fingers into his picture perfect blond hair and gripping it at the roots. If anyone could use their hair being mussed more often, it was Steve Rogers.

He groaned at the tug of her fingers and his lips slipped open under her mouth. She took the opportunity, flicking her tongue out over his full, pink bottom lip. He tasted like vodka and regret and damn if that wasn't the headiest aphrodisiac she'd ever come across. She sucked his lip into her mouth and stepped between his knees, bringing one knee up to rest on his chair. He was purring into her mouth and his hands had found their way to her hips and were stroking sweetly up and down her sides and it was all too fucking wholesome for her taste so she bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood.

He hissed in pain and he jerked away from her when she released him. He looked up at her, anger and hurt sparking in his blue eyes, and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Natasha smiled down at him, letting a touch of cruelty color it and not showing a single hint of remorse.

“Why?” he asked.

She rolled her shoulders in an uncaring shrug. “Why not? It’ll heal soon enough.”

“That's not what I'm asking.”

_ Of course you aren't.  _ She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Which answer to give him, though?

“Because today was an ugly one and I could use a good fuck.”  _ Crude language and then wait for the blush...aaand there it is.  _ “You're pretty spry for a fossil, I was hoping you'd be up for the challenge.”  _ Coy smile, tilt of the head, then bite my lower lip and wait for his eyes to track...good boy Rogers.  _ Her smile turned smug with triumph at the hunger in his eyes.

She pushed hard at the sudden guilt that was screaming at her for treating the most genuine man she'd ever met like one of her marks. He'd feel better after they fucked, they both would, she justified. It shouldn't matter how she convinced him to get into bed with her. The ends would justify the means.

“What do you say, old man,” she prompted. “Wanna show me how they did it back in your day?”

Steve's answering smile was small and weary, but it was there. “Well we didn't fucking bite people, that's for sure. At least, I never did.”

“Language, Captain,” she admonished and then leaned forward to reclaim her grip on his hair. “So no biting, huh? What a shame. Was it all tender lovemaking and gentle sighs?” She didn't even try to hide her disdain.

“Before the serum, that was really the only way for me if I didn't want to end up dyin’ in the process,” he replied with a shy, lopsided grin. “Though the gentle sighs were more like asthmatic spasms.”

Natasha snorted in amusement. “And after the serum?”

Steve shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Haven't really had much of a chance to find out.”

She was growing impatient with all of this emotional baggage. What did a girl have to do around here to get laid?

Natasha stepped back, releasing his hair to remove the glock and holster she had strapped to her thigh, setting it on the table next to them. Her fingers went to the zipper of her catsuit, tugging it down to her belly button until she could peel it down over her hips and legs. She stepped nimbly out of it and straightened to face Rogers, wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of black cotton briefs.

Steve's flush from his earlier crying jag had deepened and spread with each inch of skin she revealed. She was pleased to note the way his breathing had quickened and the way his pulse was pounding at the base of his throat. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at him with challenge in her eyes.

He stared back at her, unblinking, for maybe ten seconds, and Natasha wondered if he was going to ever respond, until a determined look crossed over his earnest features. He stood abruptly, ripping his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground before crowding into her space. His hands darted into her hair, pulling her head back as his mouth came down hard against hers.

This. This was exactly what she needed. An angry man. A hungry man. A desperate man.

He slanted his mouth over hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth to dart with little kitten flicks over her tongue. She didn't even have to fake the little moan she made when he did that. She tugged at his hair, rolling her hips against him, and then began pushing his pajama pants down his hips, leaving him completely bare.

He moaned his approval when her deft fingers wrapped around him and his head dropped to her shoulder.  _ “Fuck,”  _ he muttered and then turned his face to start licking and kissing a trail up the column of her neck and then back down over the tops of her breasts. When he bit down hard enough to bruise her breast, she cried out at the white hot pleasure of it and gave him a particularly merciless squeeze.

His response was instant and breathtaking. One moment she was still partially dressed, and the next her undergarments were in shreds on the floor and she was flat on her back on his bed with Steve kneeling on the floor between her thighs and biting a line down the soft skin of her stomach.

He looked beautiful, those dark lashes laying against his flushed cheeks as he moved to suck at the inside of her thigh. He looked even prettier when he finally dropped his mouth over her center and sucked hard enough at her that her back bowed up off the mattress.

She smacked the back of his head and his eyes flicked up to hers with mischief. He opened his mouth to say something but she grabbed his head with both hands and shoved his mouth roughly against her before he could say whatever smartass thing was on his tongue. He put the appendage to better use right away, letting her grind up against his mouth all the while.

It was good but it wasn't fucking enough.

Natasha tugged at his hair hard until he moved to crawl up her body and she could kiss him with a clash of teeth and lips. She fucking loved the way she could taste herself on his tongue. And when she whispered that little detail in his ear, she loved the way he groaned and rutted against her hip.

“Steve, for the love of god, stop dry humping me like a damn teenager and  _ fuck  _ me.”

Steve huffed into her ear. “If you insist.”

He leaned back, taking himself in hand to tease over her center, making her throb. “Steve!” she hissed, twitching her hips in arousal and frustration.

His eyes met hers, his face open with faux innocence for a brief moment until the facade slipped and he smirked at her. He had the audacity to follow his grin with a wink but Natasha had neither the time nor the inclination to scold him for it because he took that instance to snap his hips and plunge into her.

They both gasped at the sudden intrusion and Natasha's fingers scrabbled at the sheets when he drew his hips back again. His hands settled at her hips, fingers digging into her skin, and there was a breathless moment where he slowly thrust back into her, his eyes glued to where they were joined.

He paused, holding her hips tight to him and inhaling sharply through his nose. Natasha could read the memories and sorrow trying to claw back to the surface in the way his chin began to tremble and moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. When his eyes met hers, the honesty in them was too sharp and too fragile and she thought that she was going to have to look away. Before she could, something swept over him, the fragility hardening in his gaze, his jaw clenching, and a desperate hunger swallowed him up.

He straightened to his full height, lifting her hips with him up off the mattress as he pulled back and then began to crash into her. It took her by surprise, but it was exactly what she'd been craving.

_ “Shit, Steve,  _ just like that-!”

Steve groaned, his fingers at her hips gripping her with bruising force. “This what you wanted, Tasha?” he grunted. “Wanted me to fuck you into the mattress, make you forget everything else besides how good it feels when I'm pounding into you?”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Jesus, Rogers. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

A shadow crossed over his face. “Anyone I've ever kissed is dead.”

She didn't have a response and couldn't have given one anyway because he bent down over her, shifting his hands down her thighs to grip her knees and push her legs up and back against the mattress, spreading her wide.

She cried out, throwing her head back against the bed and trying to breathe despite the punishing pace he set. The new position had her mouth and fingers tingling, a sure sign of her impending climax.

“Look at me,” he growled and she was helpless but to obey.

“Is this...what you...wanted?” he gritted out, eyes boring into hers.

She nodded once and then snaked a hand between them. Before she could reach her goal, Steve released one of her knees to grip her wrist.

“No,” he said. “You don't get to come until you answer me. Is this what you wanted, Natasha?”

_ “Yes,”  _ she gasped out, desperation making her more compliant than she was used to.

He released her wrist, pushing it aside to trail his fingers down her abdomen and then press lightly against her, making her see stars and start to flutter around him. But it wasn't enough pressure. She needed more and he knew it.

Steve released her other knee, bending low to murmur in her ear. “Am  _ I  _ what you wanted, Tasha?” It was softly spoken, and the way he said her name was too gentle for the way his hips were violently snapping against her but it was fucking  _ perfect. _ Especially when he finally brought the pad of his thumb down hard against her in quick little circles.

_ “Yes,”  _ she cried out once more, her climax flooding through her as she convulsed around him.

Steve gave a long, low groan and then his thrusts were slowing and then finally petering out as he collapsed on top of her.

They both lay there, quietly huffing against one another as their breathing slowed and their hearts stopped racing. Steve raised himself up onto his elbows, one big hand coming up to stroke a few strands of her hair off her damp forehead before cradling one side of her face. His thumb stroked over her cheekbone in time to the lethargic beating of her heart. “Are you alright? Did I…did I hurt you?” His eyes were liquid, soft and open and honest.

Natasha clicked her tongue in mild annoyance, rolling her eyes before answering him. “I'm fine, Steve. You've seen me take a beating before.”

He flushed and one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile and his eyes dropped to her chin. “That's a little bit different…” His shoulders bunched up nearly to his ears.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and then pushed at one of his shoulders, signaling him to move off her. She couldn't help the way her eyes fluttered as he gently pulled out of her, though she was successful in staying silent. As soon as his bulk had rolled to her side, she sat up and scooted off the bed to stand and stretch.

His eyes followed her movements, sliding down the length of her and then stopping at the sight of the mess slowly slipping down her inner thighs. He flushed darker than she'd seen yet, the blush blooming over his cheeks and across his pale chest. _Pretty_ _boy._

“Really?” She arched a brow in amusement.  _ “This  _ is what makes you blush? After all that filth you were saying ten minutes ago?”

He ducked his head and shrugged, smiling shyly. Natasha shook her head and turned on her heels, rounding the bed and heading towards his bathroom. She got halfway there before she felt Steve come up behind her, one large hand pressing low at her belly, the other sliding up and down her hip while he nipped and sucked at the skin of her neck.

“Let me clean you up,” he rumbled in her ear, following her into the tiny bathroom.

Natasha debated whether or not to tell him to fuck off but eventually decided there was little harm in letting him perform some after care. Some men enjoyed and needed that kind of thing. She started this whole thing as a kindness to him, the least she could do was see it to its end.

She sighed and nodded her assent, leaning over to turn on the shower and patiently waiting for the water to warm before stepping into the tub. Steve followed her in, pulling the curtain closed behind them.

For a man with such large, powerful hands, he could use them with incredible finesse and gentleness. Though, Natasha reminded herself, they  _ were  _ artist’s hands, long before they were a warrior’s. He used them to tenderly clean away the evidence of their coupling and then to knead away the tension between her shoulders that Natasha could never seem to be rid of.

She didn't normally tolerate this kind of post-coital frippery, but Steve seemed to crave it and he was a man too good to see the horrors of this world but looked at them head on anyway, trying his damndest to fix them. A man like that deserved a little bit of tender nonsense every once in awhile, she supposed. And it did feel rather nice to have someone strong enough for once to work the kinks out in her back.

He dug his thumb into a particularly nasty knot, drawing an involuntary groan from her throat. She heard him inhale sharply and then felt him crowd in close to her, hard and heavy once more and pressing against her backside.

She raised a brow. “Really Steve? Already?” she muttered over her shoulder.

He shrugged one shoulder, grinning and tilting his head. “Oops?”

She snorted and turned her head away from him. “A fun side effect of the serum?” she asked.

“No, actually. Always been like that.”

That got a double eyebrow raise from her. “So you've always been an insatiable little shit?”

He dragged both hands down either side of her back, his thumbs pressing into the muscle lining either side of her spine. “Honey, I can do this all day.”

And that's how she ended up being bent over double in the shower with Steve Rogers fucking her senseless from behind.

It was fun.

When they finally made it out of the shower, squeaky clean and fully sated, Steve ambled over to his bed. He pulled back the covers and near face planted into it, his bulk bouncing slightly and his pert ass on perfect display. Natasha ran a manicured nail down one cheek, pinching at the taut flesh where his ass curved to meet the back of his thigh. He flinched, turning his head to smile up at her before rolling to his side and patting the spot beside him.

_ Oh boy.  _ Natasha didn't really do cuddling unless she was waiting to kill someone in their sleep.

The lingering exhaustion and grief in his eyes convinced her to change her policy just this once. She slipped in next to him, turning away from him and letting him curl himself around her back, his arm tucking around her waist. She tensed when he nuzzled his face into the back of her neck, humming in contentment, but she relaxed into it eventually. No harm in letting him find some comfort in her. It had been a hard day.

That's why she waited until his breathing grew heavy and languid in her ear before slipping from his bed on silent feet and heading to her own room. She closed the door separating their rooms, sliding the deadbolt home as quietly as possible before crawling into her own bed. She sunk down into the lumpy mattress on weary limbs, falling asleep instantly.

She woke several hours later to the sound of a hoarse shout from Steve's room. She sat up, instantly alert and reaching for a weapon only to relax when she realized the only thing he was fighting was a nightmare. She could hear his ragged breathing through the thin walls and inhaled sharply when his gasps turned to huffing sobs.

Natasha rose from her bed, throwing on athletic clothes with urgency.

She fucking hated when men cried.

She pulled on her running shoes and stepped out the door to her motel room, breathing in the crisp early morning air. She could still hear Steve quietly crying and she shoved down violently at the guilt bubbling in her gut. She'd already done what she could for him. Anything more would be...too much.

She zipped her hooded jacket up and took off out of the crumbling motel parking lot at a breakneck speed.  

She couldn't listen to his heart shattering anymore.

She just couldn't.

 

***

 

Steve's head snapped up at the sound of Natasha's door closing and then sank back into his hands when he heard her feet hitting the pavement, carrying her further and further away from him.

He moaned miserably into his hands. Why had he slept with her? Why? Just to wake up in the throes of a nightmare and when he'd reached for her, finding nothing but cold linens and the lingering scent of her.

He felt so incredibly lonely, even more so than when she'd first come to him and he'd been mourning the loss of all those little kids. Everything  _ hurt.  _ His head and his heart and he was just so endlessly  _ tired.  _ But how could he sleep when he kept seeing mangled, murdered children behind his eyes?

He'd thought...he'd thought that Natasha had actually wanted him, when she came to him and when he'd drawn the words from her lips. But that was his mistake. He could see that now. How could he be so stupid as to believe the words of a woman who only knew how to wield sex like a weapon?

Steve sank back onto his bed, letting her scent encompass him and letting the loss of her sweep over him in unending waves.

He was such a fucking sap. He had sex with the woman  _ one time  _ and now all he could do was ache for her, miss her. And she wanted nothing more from him. She'd made that abundantly clear.

Anger and hurt had him rocketing to his feet, panting like a beast and searching for something to lay his fists into. His eyes darted to the table where he'd sat when she’d first kissed him and the bottle of Stoli still sitting there drew his attention.

Heavy steps brought him to the table in half a breath and he gripped the bottle by the neck, hurling it with a roar into the wall. The bottle shattered and was followed by the table and then the chairs and finally he threw himself to the ground, spent from the heat of his anger.

He shoved his hands through his hair, rocking side to side and choking out sobs, his nails biting into his scalp. Maybe if he could make his body hurt worse than his heart he could get through this day.

But the worst part, the worst part was that he knew this had been coming for him for awhile. Since Hydra had fallen and he'd had to lean on her friendship, learn to trust her, he'd only come to care for the enigmatic woman more and more. When she'd offered herself up to him, he'd snapped up the opportunity like it was some kind of sign that she felt the same.

He shoulda known better. Captain America was meant to walk this world alone. And Steve Rogers would always suffer for it.


End file.
